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Top 10 Reasons My Faster-Than-Light Car Rules:

10) Stephen Hawking always wants to carpool.

9) Breaking the laws of physics is only a misdemeanor in most states.

8) Traffic enforcement is pretty much limited to cops with Ph.D.'s in Quantum Physics.

7) Bugs - they never see you comin'.

6) I can get to the good hookers before Charlie Sheen.

5) I made a fortune selling pizza with the slogan "It's there before you order or it's free!"

4) I sleep until noon and still get to work by 8:00am!

3) I'm never in the car long enough to hear an entire Madonna song.

2) My cigar butts don't land in the back seat, they land in last week!

... and the number one cool thing about my faster-than-light car is ...

1) I get a license plate that reads "ME = MC^2"

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Weekend Points To Ponder



Weekend Points To Ponder


(And a poll on the left to let us all know your idea of a great weekend)

Argument 1: Ashlee Simpson is hotter than Jessica.

Yes, you read those mind-altering words here. Want to know why? Because Ashlee says so:

"I'm taller than she is and my legs are longer than hers … I got lucky because my chest size isn't completely massive."

Yes, that's right, she is hotter than her sister because she looks like a chicken and has small tits. They're both sub-literate sock monkeys but what makes America great is that while other countries ( e.g. Belgium ) are still chucking spears and ingesting goat blood, my penis gets to debate which one of them is hotter while I stare at this picture of Jessica firing a gun big enough to shoot down a jumbo jet:



Argument 2. Schools Are Better Today.

Sure, SAT scores have dropped so much they have to recalibrate them every 10 years, but that's book knowledge. When it comes to practical, common-sense street smarts young people today are much smarter than I ever was. Or my parents. Why do I say that? Because kids today have sex like hopped-up bunnies.

As evidence we have stories about students getting into trouble for oral sex in the classroom and entrepreneurial college guys who didn't want to go find a stripper so they got some girl down the hall to do it.

What does it tell you? Young people have figured out how to get laid. I can't wait to see these guys running companies. The corporate world is absolutely nothing compared to the difficulty of trying to get laid as a teenager.

Argument 3. Paris Hilton is a friggin' genius.

I'm inclined to think a skinny, dumb girl who looks like a cartoon cricket and has to issue press releases to deny that she pisses all over herself in cabs isn't all that smart, but then I saw that she bought this $400,000 car and I am inclined to shake my head and think she must be pretty brilliant after all:

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Argument 4. My Penis Is Larger Than The One Enrique Iglesias Is Sporting.

If you're like me, your first thought was "Who the hell is Enrique Iglesias?" Then I remembered, yeah, he's the guy married to Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

No, wait, that isn't him at all. This guy is apparently related to a famous singer ... or he's supposed to be some kind of singer himself. Anyway, when he lets slip to the world that he has trouble finding extra small condoms and then has to talk about how he doesn't actually have a small penis, you know he has a small penis.

Long-time readers know that I, on the other hand, had to switch from Magnum to Magnum XL condoms at 15. And I was pissed because I still had seven of the regular ones left.

posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 1:31 PM
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Breaking The Code



I can't speak for anyone else but I am damn turned on by Tilda Swinton as The Witch in that Chronicles of Narnia movie. It's rare that I would let a woman get too much over on me but if she'll dress up like that I imagine I would put up with a lot, even something like using me for sex and not buying me an orange smoothie afterward.

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I know, I know, giving up post-coital smoothies is a lot. Don't start thinking I have gone soft and will start crying in bed or something equally blue state-ish. I am still a prick and have no problem letting women know it. Like this chick. She is apparently the most-tipped girl on the Frisco section of Smokinghotwaitress.com and I just don't get it. She's not even the hottest waitress that woke up at my house this morning.

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Well, maybe she's hotter than the short one, but I only met her because I was wearing my cool KodeSex shirt at the gym and she came up and started talking to me. It was late and my self esteem was low because I hadn't had sex since 2AM the night before:

"Do you really have sex the way your KodeSex shirt says you do?" asks she.
"If you can call it sex," replies I, "It's more like a human rights violation."

Now, why is it when you go out of your way to make something sound as unattractive as possible, women are drawn to it anyway? Girls, here is a hint: sometimes there ain't no diamonds, it's just all rough. But relationship advice is best left for Fridays so let's move on.

After mentioning the human rights violation I felt like I did my part to dissuade her so I don't feel any guilt for what happened afterward. Plus, I gave her some Advil and bought her an orange smoothie so I figured that made us even, though she wasn't too happy about me forgetting her name and calling her Tilda Swinton.

She was also a brunette so I feel like I have done my part for tolerance and giving women of all heights and hair colors a chance this month. I don't discriminate like those Germans that are discriminating against Muslims by removing their flags from brothels. How will Muslim men know where to get laid during the World Cup now? As we discussed before, Germans are good about obeying signs - except, of course, the ones that say 'BORDER TO FRANCE' or have the Star of David on them - but Muslims are another barrel of mackerels. To get guys from Saudi Arabia to pay attention you need signs like this:

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I guess there's such a thing as taking misogyny too far, huh? Fine, fine. Since I have been so non-politically correct today tomorrow's post will be entitled:

The 12 Greatest Racks Of The Yale Feminist Studies Program


There? All better?

posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 7:10 AM
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Austrians Get Laid More Than You Do



That's right, I said Austrians. I also said more than you, not me. Anyone who reads my blog knows that the line of women waiting to offer me their vaginas is so long it can be seen from the moon.*

This study says it's because men care about women there, blah, blah, blah. I think it's because the cities are named things like F**KING. Look for yourself.

Country at the bottom of the list in the survey? Japan. Not that this will surprise you. No one can have sex because of all the damn earthquakes that cock block me when I am there.



*Number of times I have used that line on this blog; 34. Number of times Sweety has laughed and/or approved of me using that line: 0.

posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 7:44 AM
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Tom Cruise Has A Great Life



He is proud to tell you he has a spectacular sex life - and don't get me wrong, my sex life is spectacular too, because Sweety has that whole madonna-whore dichotomy down to an art form - but he has my spectacular sex life, is adored by millions and has enough money to buy Lenin's brain.

So what could make him happier than that? Eating his newborn baby's placenta is the idea he came up with.

Maybe he's on that Adkin's Diet thing?

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A Pacifier For Katie



Tom Cruise apparently had one made for the mother of his child to help her keep quiet during her Scientology-induced labor. Because making her chew on her dignity was apparently not going to be enough.

And does anyone else wish they had thought of this t-shirt first?

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posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 7:34 AM
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Girl With Mannish Shoulders Pretends She Hates Attention



In fact, supposedly Evangeline Lilly wished she was ugly. She says, "I spent many nights crying myself to sleep wishing I was ugly because of the way men leered and disrespected me..." and then, "You feel like they're paying to stare at your ass when you're walking away from the table." Then she had this picture taken by a professional photographer:



Yeah, she makes no sense to me either. I think I can speak for all of us in promising we have no desire to stare at Evangeline Lilly's ass.

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Britney Spears' Baby Tries To Throw Himself To Doom After Discovering Kevin Federline Is His Father



You would too. Turns out the little tyke was watching "EXTRA" on TV and making fun of Federline when he noticed something odd - the clown kept showing up on TV following his mother everywhere. Then he looked around the kitchen and noticed the same guy was always there, smelling of marijuana and wearing cornrows and it dawned on him. Once the impact hit home, witnesses say, the little tyke tried to off himself rather than grow up having to wear baggy pants and make bad rap albums.

As a precaution, child protective services was called in to investigate but little K-Fed was unable to implicate his dad in the crime.

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Gwyneth Paltrow Insures Her Kid Will Get Beat Up



As if she needed any more assurance after making Chris Martin the boy's father. Obviously as soon as it's discovered that the dad in that family is the guy from Coldplay you can bet helpful bigger kids will rob the young lad of his dignity and his pants.

But that's the future. How did she insure he will get beat up right now? She named him Moses! That's right, an old school Biblical name, and just in time for Easter. What did Moses have to do with Easter, you ask? Not a damn thing. But I am betting Gwyneth Paltrow doesn't know that.

posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 10:46 PM
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Relatonship Advice



It may surprise you to learn this, because you are used to me being a science guru and, on occasion, a Formula One race car driver who solves mysteries on TV, but I am also an expert on relationships.

Not my own, of course. My past relationships have gone somewhere between train wreck and horror movie - without the actual sweet release of death. No, I mean I am an expert on your relationships. So, guys, here is the advice I was all prepared to give today:

Never trust the woman who gives you the best blow job you’ve ever had.

Now, I didn't even get to issue this advice before it was already the subject of some debate. I was driving to a meeting and talking on the phone to a friend and, naturally, the subject was oral sex. It may also surprise you to learn that all of my conversations with friends revolve around oral sex. It would surprise me if that were actually true. But this one revolved around oral sex because I said that the bit about oral sex was going to be my relationship advice for Friday. She disagreed that you shouldn't trust the person who gives you the best oral sex because she felt quite trustworthy and was certain that in any case where she was involved she would want it to be the best ever for the guy.

I had to concede that point, because she was just being considerate. This confused me a little - the considerate woman part, I mean. Not full-on confusion, like how Nicole Kidman can get married in the Catholic Church after being married to a Scientologist for 11 years. But instead that mild sort of confusion that makes me doubt I can get a whole blog of relationship advice on a premise with such shaky ground.

So I began instead to catalogue ways you can narrow down whether or not this is the perfect woman for you, oral sex notwithstanding. Here it is, an easy to follow guide to understanding women. It's like a taxonomy key. If you don't know what that is, you deserve bad blow jobs:

Does she drink Shiner Bock? If the answer is YES, it means she is from Texas and can shuck a crawdad for you in under 3 seconds. Ask her on a date because Texas women can endure anything. If the answer is NO, go to IS SHE A REPUBLICAN?

Did you meet her in a Farmer's Market? If the answer is yes, you are in LA. So she doesn't find it odd if you spend more on waxes than her and have better shoes. If the answer is NO, what are you doing at a Farmer's Market? And go to CAN SHE BAKE A PIE?

Does she have a great butt? If the answer is YES she is from Sofia, Bulgaria, home of the hottest women on planet Earth. If the answer is NO, why are you talking to her? Have you ever been comforted when a friend setting you up with a girl issues forth the statement, "She has really pretty eyes"? No, I didn't think so. And go to DOES SHE LISTEN TO DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS?

Does she know what a Superdawg is? If the answer is YES, you are in Chicago. There will always be cheap beer at her place. She also won't mind if you pull out your thing in the cab ride back from dinner. If the answer is NO, fly to Chicago.

Is she a Republican? If the answer is YES, she won't cry about the woman she is devastating by sleeping with you. If the answer is NO, get thee to a Red state and find one. And tell Ann Coulter I said hello. I kinda miss her.

Does she listen to Drive-By Truckers? If the answer is YES, she is so dirty you don't have to ask how many piercings she has as an indicator of where she will let you put it. If the answer is NO, a lack of a great ass and no freaky business means you are destined to watch Cinemax on Fridays for the foreseeable future.

Can she bake a pie? If the answer is YES, she is from Colorado. Marry the girl, because pie crusts are a bitch. If the answer is NO, two cups of flour, some salt, a cup of butter, a little bit of water, mix it all up, roll it out and then put it in a pie tin because only Colorado women will put up with your crap and you're destined to die alone.

I hope this has helped you in your quest for the perfect woman but on further reflection, generally speaking, I am right and my pal is wrong about the oral sex thing. If she disagrees, she's nothing short of a blonde wig away from proving her point.

posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 5:26 PM
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Page Six Guy Takes Bribes To Keep Out The Gossip



So, yeah, if you want to stay out of my blog you'd better start ponying up. I have no problem at all inventing news, thus I am the opposite of this guy, who had no problem at all preventing news from being printed.

Items you might not want me to reveal:

*I had sex with you.
*You had sex with me.
*Your breasts are fake.
*My hands are small, I drive a sports car, and I am still way bigger than Brad Pitt.


Angelina Jolie, I expect a check from you any day now.

posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 4:05 PM
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More Jeannie News!



I Dream Of Jeannie Season 1 is out on DVD. What is left to say about Barbara Eden in that cool outfit? Not much. I am buying the set and a case of Astro-Glide.

But before I do that, should you have a desire to be a hot, subservient girl obeying my every wish while being platinum blonde and in your 30s - and should you like that experience captured on DVD - I am accepting applications to audition.

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posted by your friendly neighborhood Moderator at 9:19 AM
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Friday



Friday



I was visiting family out of town and I know you missed my relationship advice for the weekend so I will try to catch up. Instead of ending with it, as usual, we will start with it and soon you will see why. Guys, this applies to relationships you will have in the future:

If you ever dated a stripper, keep it to yourself, dummy.

I am off on the right coast visiting and the young guys and the Mad Korean I am with are mulling over what we should do Friday night. I know where this is going; I always know where this is going. It's going to start with a harmless idea about movie theaters and end up with a strip club. How do I know this? It's like a Bertrand Russell experiment. If you aren't familiar with Russell he formulated the idea that if you introduce a contradiction into a closed system you can prove anything. A student once challenged him on this:

"If 2 plus 2 equals 5," the student said, "prove that I am The Pope."

Russell replied: "If 2 plus 2 is equal to 5, then 4 is equal to 5; if 4 is equal to 5, then subtracting 3 from each side means 1 is equal to 2. You and The Pope are 2; therefore you and The Pope are 1."

Russell knew when he was being hustled and so do I. How is the strip club idea hustling? Well, they introduce a closed number of options and then make sure most of them are unacceptable. So one guy throws out the strip club option and then I hear;

"How about Dave & Busters?"

"What is Dave & Busters?" I ask.

"It's an adult video arcade. It has games and stuff but they serve alcohol so there are no kids allowed."

"What in our long history together suggests to you I want to play video games on a Friday night?" Though, to be fair, I probably spent most of his childhood playing video games with him on Friday nights.

The other ideas are along those lines, each one worse than the last, until the only reasonable option left is the strip club. Bertrand Russell wins again because somehow I am convinced a strip club is the best thing to do. Now, I am not down on strip clubs per se, but I have been to the best strip clubs in the world* so I am less inclined to go to bad ones in small cities. Still, one young guy who is like an adopted son assures me that he knows an okay place - and he always carries a pistol when we go out so he knows what he's talking about. Since my actual son introduced the video game idea his judgment is questionable. The strip club it is. The only rule, of course, is plenty of cigars. They know I get bored in bars and clubs so I have to have cigars and once the cigars are gone, we are gone.

(*The best strip clubs are, in order; Rick's Cabaret in New Orleans, Blue Rose in Ibiza, Spain and Seventh Heaven in Tokyo.)

So we find this place. Club Royale. The entry fee is a modest $10 so that earns a Cash Star for being a decent value. There is one girl quite striking because she is so tall - though a little thin. Skinny Girl gives me the eye and walks on by. The rest of the girls are about what you'd see in any town in Alaska. Being strippers, they lock on your eyes right away. I am immune to strippers so it means nothing to me but I know it works on a lot of men because women making eye contact with men in America is rare unless she actually likes you. We settle in comfortably and I light a Fonseca.

Eventually Skinny Girl sits down next to me and I light her cigarette because I am a gentlemen - especially to strippers. She introduces herself as Ashton.

"Isn't that a boy's name?" I ask.

"It's both. Isn't it better than Candy or Sugar or something like that?"

"I suppose so, except it makes me think of some skinny guy on that TV show I watch at the gym."

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Cash," I reply.

"Like Cash Warren?" she asks.

"I don't know who that is. Is he a famous scientist too?"

"Never mind. Is it a stage name or something?"

"No, I am always frank and earnest with women. Frank in Pittsburgh and Ernest in Chicago."

"But you're in Pittsburgh."

"Then call me Frank," I say, and shake her hand. This gets a laugh from the boys. "How tall are you?"

"Well, I am 5'8" barefoot but 6'3" in heels." At least she is in the strike zone.

I look at the heels. Now, if there is one thing I know it is chicks in heels and those are five-inch heels, but a foot is not made of 10 inches. I decide not to point out to her that 5'8 plus 5 does not equal 6'3. If disqualifying a girl for being dumb were an issue I would never have dated a model.

"Stand up," I say. She stands up. I do too. Yep, shorter than me. She winces a little when she sits down.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "You like the rough stuff and it got out of hand?"

She doesn't get it. "Well, I hurt my shoulder working out and I took an Advil for it but it isn't working."

"What were you doing?"

"Lifting weights. I have the worst time trying to gain weight. I eat everything and try those protein things. My metabolism is just very high."

"Are you bulimic?" I ask. She shakes her head 'no.' "Anorexic?" No again. "Do I look manorexic to you?"

She laughs and touches my arm. "Hey, there's no touching," I say. The guys at the table lose at it this point. She is flummoxed. Strippers are used to telling men not to touch, not the other way around. Strippers against normal men is like Kryptonite versus Superman ( before Superman #233, of course ) but all my Kryptonite has been turned to lead or something because they just don't do anything for me.

I head off to the boy's room and I come back and she stands up and says she is giving me a lap dance.

"No," I say. More gasps from around the table. "Sorry. Married." She is stunned. Obviously married men visit strip clubs all of the time. She throws a glance to see if I have a ring. I hear something unintelligible off to my left.

"Yallareputzy"

I turn to The Mad Korean. He is a Physics Guru and Ph.D. in Electrical Engineering but I warned those guys that his Korean heritage meant he could outdrink all of them. Alcohol would not help his accent though. "What?" I asked.

"You ... are ... a ... pussy," he speaks more slowly.

"I'm a vagina because I don't take a lap dance from this girl?"

"I already paid her."

Well, I appreciate that, I think to myself, but I am committed at this point. So she sits down and tells me it's very admirable that I wouldn't let her undulate her skinny hips into my groin. I am just thinking she'd never let me have any peace after that. After a few minutes more she makes a graceful exit.

Meanwhile, Adopted Son has been getting the rap from another stripper for at least 45 minutes. She isn't going anywhere. Eventually she leaves too but to go home, not to make money, and she slips him her number.

"Should I call her?" he asks me later.

"Every young man should date a stripper once," I tell him. "But keep a few things in mind. If this were a young girl, she may have to pay for a crack habit or she may like the attention. Your girl is in her late 20's so this is just a job. When you see her again, forget the stripper thing and remember she likes you because you are nice and talked to her like a person. Give her a call and see where it goes."

Adopted Son and Actual Son then argue for the half hour drive back to the house about whether or not he will call her. Adopted Son offers The Mad Korean free cable because The Mad Korean looked at me at one point during the drive and said, "I am not going to punch you" which they figured took some brass cajones, being that he is drunk, maybe five feet tall and has never been in a fight in his life.

I drop off Adopted Son and tell him to let me know how things go when he does talk to the stripper.

"And for God's sake," I tell him, "No matter how well it goes, if a girl in the future ever asks if you dated a stripper, do the smart thing and deny it."

And no, I never dated a stripper either.

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